


The Slow Chase

by Serpensortia_parapluie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canonical Character Death, Don't copy to another site, M/M, One Shot, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, mild mentions of violence, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22378195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpensortia_parapluie/pseuds/Serpensortia_parapluie
Summary: Stiles' soulmark changed into a wolf with red eyes right before he found out about werewolves. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 21
Kudos: 678





	The Slow Chase

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own, nor am I associated with the creators of _Teen Wolf_. I do not give permission for my works to be posted on third-party sites like Goodreads.

Figuring out that werewolves are real kinda cements it for Stiles. His soulmate, whoever they may be, is _definitely_ a werewolf. His life just runs on that kind of- well, not _irony_ because Alanis Morissette has a lot to answer for to the literary world there- but, well. _Irony_ in the Alanis Morissette sort of way.

Your soulmark is an outward sign of the bond embedded on your soul, that manifests as a mark that wanders your skin. Many theories abound about what each spot the soulmark lingers means; about you, about your soulmate, about your bond, etc, etc.

Even _more_ theories are widely available about _what_ the images mean. Scott’s had a tiny little cupid that likes to shoot even tinier silver arrows at his heart for as long as Stiles has known him. Conventional wisdom means that Scott’s soulmate is steadfast- hence the image never changing- and their relationship is romantic- hence the hovering around his heart.

In many cases, despite conventional wisdom, there are more personal meanings to the places your mark lingers than the reasons offered in magazines.

For instance, when Stiles’ mother was alive, she would sometimes let him see the silver star perched on her chest, right where his dad’s would be if they lived in a spaghetti western and he was the only Sheriff in town instead of a deputy. In turn, his dad had a lightning storm racing around his shoulders for as long as Claudia was alive. After she died, all that was left were unnaturally still and dark gray clouds.

Stiles, on the other hand, has had his soulmark change several times over the course of his life. He was born with a set of gleaming golden scales on his side, and they never did seem to agree which side equaled more than the other. After a while, those changed out to a few copies of dusty old tomes, pages fluttering in a non-existent breeze, briefly revealing words in languages he could never quite seem to find.

Right around the time his mom died, it changed again, this time to a miniature cloak and dagger, not that you could see the dagger all the time, what with how the cloak swirled around to conceal it. Mom didn’t like that. Mom didn’t like much of anything to do with Stiles near the end, and it was due to her illness, so Stiles tried not to take it personally.

He usually failed, but he did try.

Roughly four to five months ago, it’d changed once again. Stiles got the impression that this change might be here to stay for a while, what with the new presence in his life of creatures that go ‘awoo’ in the night.

His soulmark is presently a large emaciated black wolf, more shadow and ribs than fur, with almost luminescent red eyes. It roams all over his skin, like it’s exploring its new territory, and likes to curl up to sleep on the vulnerable skin of his right wrist.

What else meets that description in Stiles’ life right now?

That’s right, Alpha werewolves.

His soulmate had better not be Derek, that’s all he can say. Derek has proven himself a little _too_ willing to manhandle Stiles into the nearest vertical surface and a little too uncaring for his bruises for his taste.

\- -

Stiles is a little jittery, so sue him. He’s got two possibilities for his soulmate, as far as he can tell. Either Derek, who won’t let him get a word in edgewise, even when it might save all their lives, or Peter, the one they’re trying to save their lives _**from**_.

__Hysterical laughter is bubbling up his throat, but he forces that shit down into a mental safe and locks the door. He can’t lose it now, he has lives depending on him. Well, not actually, but he’s pretty sure he’s helping in some capacity and that’s good enough for him._ _

__It’d be nice if he could stop low-key panicking about his soul mate crisis though, and focus on the life-endangering crisis he’s going through instead._ _

____

\- -

It’s as his arm is mid-throw, an automatic action from all the lacrosse practice he’s endured for Scotty’s sake, that it occurs to him that he’s very possibly about to murder his soul mate. It strikes him suddenly enough that it throws his aim out of whack, and the Alpha- Peter- catches it.

Because of course he does. How could he have expected anything to go right?

A moment later, the bottle breaks anyway, courtesy of an arrow from Allison, who is apparently on their side now. Or at least, not on Peter’s side.

Peter screams.

Stiles closes his eyes for a long moment, not wanting to see this. Peter’s still screaming when Stiles opens his eyes again, but not for long.

\- -

His soulmark, a week after helping kill Peter, still has red eyes, and still moves. It’s slower than before, and more prone to curling up, snout to tail-tip, right on the wrist where Peter gripped his arm gently- for him- and offered him the Bite. The eyes are more ‘rusty maroon’ than ‘fresh blood’, but they haven’t Faded completely.

Stiles curls up in his bed so late at night it’s early morning, tracing his wolf’s out line with one finger over and over and tries not to think about what it could mean. Tries, and fails. He’s never been able to stop thinking about something when he wanted to, even when it was something utterly unimportant, like the entire history of male circumcision. Why would he be able to stop thinking about this?

It’s possible his hunch was wrong, and it’s not Peter who is his soul mate, but Derek, or some other completely unrelated werewolf he has yet to meet.

His gut tells him he’s wrong about that, and if the introduction of the supernatural to his life has taught him anything, it’s to trust his instincts, because they’re rarely wrong in this regard.

So, facts. Soulmarks stop moving, and gradually lose all color when your soulmate dies. Verified and well-documented truth. Sure, somebody might have a soulmark that stays in the same place all the time, but it’ll still be animated, it’ll still move, even if only a little, and be colored. Scott’s mark has been anchored in the same place for far longer than any of Stiles’ changing marks, but the cupid’s wings beat, and the arrows move.

The clouds on his dad’s shoulders are stationary now, and solidly in shades of gray instead of brilliant shots of blue, green, and purple that used to roll through them with his mom’s moods.

Stiles watched Peter burn, helped make it so. He saw Derek slit his uncle’s throat. He came back, later, to check if Derek needed help- he didn’t even want to think about how traumatizing it must be to bury your last remaining family member. One that you had to kill in order to save your life and the lives of others, and sure, Derek’s kind of a dick, but no one deserves that in their life.

He found no trace of Derek, but he did find a freshly-dug grave.

So. Either Peter was never his soulmate, and Stiles felt strangely drawn to a serial killer for reasons he doesn’t want to investigate, even if he can empathize with most of the reasons why; or, Peter _is_ his soulmate, and _somehow_ , he’s still alive.

He resolves himself to do some research in the morning- _proper_ morning, not pseudo-morning like right now, where it’s past midnight and therefore technically morning, but before dawn and therefore technically night.

It’s difficult- he keeps hearing fire crackling and Peter’s wounded cries when he nears the edge of unconsciousness, and sees his terrible burns when he closes his eyes, but it’s been a week of this already and he manages to drop off into sleep sometime around three. He has to be up in three hours, but that’s future Stiles’ problem, and maybe he can take a nap after school if Scott doesn’t need him.

Stiles sleeps.

\- -

Lydia, the light of his life and the unremittingly genius Lydia, has been acting strange lately. He’d love to find out if everything is alright with her, but frankly, everything is not alright with him and he just does not have the time.

First it’s, ‘oh more people are being murdered in a mysterious and completely unnatural way’, then it’s ‘a giant lizard just killed my mechanic in front of me’, ‘oh shit it’s Jackson’, ‘Jackson, if you are losing time and feel like you are transforming into something that is a warning sign and something to be _concerned about_ , God Damn It You Jackass’, ‘kidnapping in order to avoid murder’, ‘restraining order and Disappointed Dad’, ‘Fucking Gerard’, ‘getting kidnapped and beaten up by a geriatric’, and then, finally, all the current bullshit of his life culminates in a clusterfuck at a warehouse.

Scott _lied_ to Stiles’ _face_. Scott used Derek in a really upsetting and not-cool way, though Stiles came in too late to know about that at the time, he learned about it later. He crashed Roscoe through a warehouse wall to save the day, and did anyone ask if he was alright?

No. Not even Scott. Allison went to the Dark Side (again?), and Lydia brought Jackson back from the dead with the power of her love, so frankly, Stiles felt he kinda had to give up on his ten-year plan once and for all. He just can’t compete with ‘bring Jackson the Jackass back from the dead’ kind of devotion in Lydia’s eyes.

Oh, and it turns out Peter’s still alive. Alive again?

Whatever. At least _that_ wasn’t a total surprise, though Stiles still doesn’t know what to make of it.

\- -

Stiles scans the warehouse one last time for any more unpleasant surprises. Unsurprisingly, he finds a few.

One, Gerard is gone. There’s a streak of black goo leading outside, but no sign of the old bastard anywhere that he can see. That doesn’t bode well. He’s seen enough horror movies to be genre-savvy, and losing track of the bad guy’s body is like, horror 101 and always means the killer’s going to make a comeback when least expected.

Two, Scott’s ditched him. Just up and vanished with the Argents. Stiles is learning to not be surprised by that anymore, especially where Allison’s concerned, but it still hurts. There used to be a time when it was just him and Scotty against the world, but now that the danger in their lives is escalating, more and more it seems to be just Stiles on his own against the world. It leaves him feeling hollow inside, and each time Scott ditches him, or fails to show up, answer his phone, or even look at Stiles when he needs his brother; it feels like he went to take a step at the end of a staircase only to discover there wasn’t one there.

He’s learning how to keep going after that, but the initial reach for something that isn’t there anymore swoops unpleasantly through his stomach each time and leaves him off-balance for an endless moment.

Thirdly, Derek is also gone. Not unexpected. He’s a creature of the night after all, and part of that is not lingering after the action’s over.

Fourth, so’s everyone else. Even Lydia, who he gave a ride to. It’s at least an hour walk to the more populated areas of town, and Jackson was naked. What are their plans there? He has no idea, but they ditched him, so it’s officially Not His Problem.

Fifth, and hovering near the top of his list of ‘Awful things to have happened to Stiles tonight’: Roscoe won’t start.

He turns the key again, biting at his lip. C’mon. C’mon. _Please._

Nothing. Not even a splutter.

His eyes grow hot, and he half collapses against the wheel, leaning his forehead against his arm as he tries again. And again.

Nothing. The warehouse is terribly silent in the wake of all that went down, which makes the shuddering breath he takes to try and calm himself all too loud in the heavy aftermath of disaster. His eyes squeeze themselves shut as he clenches his fist around the keys still in his grasp and he tries to breathe slowly and evenly, to calm himself down.

Tonight has been, with the exception of the game, a complete and utter shitshow. He is not going to add crying on top of that.

He’s not.

_In-two-three-four- in-two-three-four- fuck, m’gonna hyperventilate if I don’t **slow** my breathing down- in-two-three-four-fi-_

“Stiles? Are you alright?”

Stiles doesn’t quite jump, but he does startle enough to briefly hit the horn. Just enough of a startle to get his adrenaline going again and his heart racing, god _damn._

Both of his hands have found their way to the wheel, ten and two, elbows locked like he thought he was heading into a head-on collision and foot firmly on the brake.

Maybe it’s because he’s just so _done_ with today, maybe it’s because he’s 93% certain this man is his soulmate, and deep down Stiles is relieved he somehow survived the crowdsourced murder attempt, but he closes his eyes briefly as he grits out, “Weren’t you _dead_ , Peter?”

Stiles can hear the shrug in Peter’s voice as he says lightly, “I got better.”

He opens his eyes and turns in his seat towards Peter leaning on Roscoe’s window. Peter looks better and worse than the last time Stiles saw him.

He looks less desperate, less crazy around the eyes. He isn’t exuding menace anymore, which in Stiles’ opinion, is a big step up. His cheeks are hollow, the bags under his eyes are atrocious, and he fits into his clothes like a toddler playing dress-up. The vee of his neckline goes down to his sternum, and exposes the flickering edges of feathers, darting here and there across his skin, dark and colored like an oil slick.

In a way, Stiles is… not _pleased_ , but not _dissatisfied_ either, that somehow the man he suspects of being his soulmate has survived, and looks significantly less crazy-eyed and blood-thirsty. However, at the moment, Stiles doesn’t have it in him to feel anything more than that.

It’s been a long, _long_ day, with no end in sight.

\- -

Somehow, Stiles and Peter end up behind the Argent’s house, where Stiles was tied up and beaten a few hours ago. Stiles wants nothing more, after the warehouse and after Peter helping him push his Jeep a block over into an abandoned lot, than to find his dad and go home, but he can’t. Not while Boyd and Erica were still in the basement.

He’s not 100% certain why Peter’s helping him search for people neither of them particularly care for or feel any connection to, but he has his suspicions. Peter is a smart man. Even when wrapped up in his quest for revenge, it did nothing to quell his intelligent nature, just twisted it.

If Stiles has put together the pieces by now and come up with ‘high probability of soulmate’, he’s sure Peter has as well. Even if he probably didn’t get such a blatant hint as a black wolf with red eyes that changed to blue over the course of a month.

So, Stiles supposes he _does_ know why Peter is helping him. Why _Stiles_ is bothering is another question entirely.

\- -

Unfortunately, they’re too late. Erica and Boyd are gone, and there’s no telling where they could be now, or even if they’re still alive.

There’s no trace of Gerard, either.

And maybe Stiles is going out on a limb and being too trusting of a man he knows is a murderer- but Scott has been by the house. Recently, so probably when he ditched Stiles to take Allison home along with her father, but that means he might have been here when Erica and Boyd were still tied up in the basement. So, he either heard them, or smelled them in pain and distress, or traces of them, and completely ignored it, or he’s so bad at being a werewolf that he didn’t even notice the torture chamber in the basement.

Stiles does not have the energy to think through the implications of that tonight. He just doesn’t.

He shifts his weight carefully, to avoid jostling anything, then eyes Peter out of the corner of his eye. Peter, hands in his pockets, stares placidly back. His eyes are stupidly blue, even without the werewolf flaring thing they do that makes them glow and Stiles is officially done for the night.

“So. Lazarus. You got anywhere to stay tonight?”

A corner of Peter’s mouth quirks up, just a tad. “Why Stiles, inviting me to spend the night? Whatever would your father say?”

Stiles huffs. “Probably, ‘holy hell son, where on earth have you been?’”

Peter shifts his weight, and somehow ends up a little closer to Stiles than before. Stiles diplomatically decides not to notice. “And how would you explain the strange man you’re bringing into the house?”

Stiles rolls his shoulders, suppressing a wince. “That depends on how good your cover story for disappearing from the hospital and recovering from all your burn wounds is.”

Peter cocks a brow.

Stiles turns and starts walking. “And I wasn’t going to head straight home anyway. I’m heading to the police station.”

Peter conspicuously says nothing, from a step or two behind Stiles.

Stiles says to the air in front of him, “ _If_ you have a story that explains all that, it would look good for your reputation if your first act outside of a coma is helping reunite the Sheriff and his kidnapped son.”

Peter comes up to walk beside him in a manner much like a cat. This is where he intended to be all along, he says without saying. “And what do you care about my reputation?”

“Aaaand now I have that song from Shrek stuck in my head, thanks a lot.”

“ _Stiles_.” Peter says.

Stiles keeps his eyes forward, glued to the solitary streetlight on the corner they’re approaching. Quietly, he answers. “I think you know why I might have an interest in your reputation being on the up and up, Peter.”

Peter hums, acknowledging but not confessing. “Oh?”

Stiles keeps trudging, inwardly cursing the lack of infrastructure in this part of town. How expensive is it to install sidewalks, anyway? Or more streetlights, at least. He stumbles every couple of feet, but he’s determined not to lean on Peter for this leg of the journey.

If Peter doesn’t want to come out and say it, Stiles certainly isn’t going to.

Peter sticks close to him the entire way to the police station, but doesn’t say another word.

\- -

When they finally reach the station, buzzing with activity like an overturned beehive, Stiles pauses to look back at Peter, one hand on the door.

“Are you coming or not?” he asks, meaning so much more.

The look on Peter’s face is unreadable, but when Stiles huffs and pulls the door open, striding through confidently, already looking for his dad, Peter’s hand catches the door behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm back. The job I enjoyed and had a five-year plan for went under, my hard drive and all my writing progress from the months of May to November disappeared with no hope for retrieval, and I'm stuck in a job I hate but am making steps to remove myself from this position. It's been A Time. I hope to start posting something at least once a month, but we'll see how far I get into 2020 with that resolution. Please leave a kudos or comment if you liked it, and, as always, I am open to constructive criticism.  
> Fun fact: It doesn't come up in this fic, other than a brief mention, but Peter's soulmark is a raven with Stiles' eye color, and little raven onomatopoeias that pop up, like 'scrawk!' and 'caw' and all sorts of other fun and ridiculous sounds write across his skin in direct correlation to how much Stiles is talking. It's always been a raven, though the bird does age with Stiles and therefore was a fluffy little fledgling for a while. The breed of raven is up to you, dear reader. Also, the reason it's a raven is because I was being predictable and playing off the relationship between wolves and ravens in the wild.  
> Fact the second: Yes, I did notice that when Stiles is counting off bad things in the warehouse, he goes 'one, two, thirdly', which was a total mistake but felt like something Stiles would do when stressed, so I left it in.  
> Fact the third: The song referenced by Stiles as 'the song from Shrek' is _Bad Reputation_ by Joan Jett, for those of you who haven't seen it.


End file.
